


Come all the tides and tows

by secretlymisha



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alistair/Anora mentioned, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dirty Talk, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Inquisitor/others mentioned, Insecurity, Iron Bull/Dorian mentioned, Jealousy, Makeup Sex, Mentions Of Infidelity, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, quizzy/alistair stuff is brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:24:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3733837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretlymisha/pseuds/secretlymisha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Admittedly, he feels a bit inadequate at the best of times, but this barrage is sending his mind to places he thought he'd left behind years ago. It isn't as though he’s trying to overhear, either; it’s all she and Dorian have been talking about since their return from the field, and as the number of stories continues to grow, Cullen can no longer suppress his suspicions about what might have sparked the topic of conversation in the first place."</p><p>A DA Kink Meme fill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come all the tides and tows

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Flux and Flow" by Lights. 
> 
> Please see endnotes for original prompt.

"I'm not saying he was bad at it!" the Inquisitor laughs. Her voice is pitched low but carries to Cullen’s hearing easily. He's sitting across the table from her but might as well be a league away for all the attention she’s paying him. Her body is turned toward the man at her side, the plate in front of her entirely forgotten. "I simply think that always relying on the same spell to get the job done is a bit lazy. Don't you agree?" 

Dorian shrugs as he reaches to refill his wine goblet from the nearest bottle. "I suppose. But you know how we mages love to show off."

"You can’t tell me you think a few zaps here and there is anything to brag about," she teases. A light flush is coloring her cheeks, and Cullen wonders if it’s from her drink or her thoughts. "Although for a while I was sleeping with a man who could--"

Cullen pushes his chair back and stands abruptly, wincing as the wood scrapes loudly against the stone floor. Across the table, Trevelyan and Dorian turn from each other to stare at him. Cullen knows he seems rude, but he can't stand to hear yet another story about yet another lover who could do exciting, _magical_ sex… things with which Cullen could never hope to compete. 

He's heard them swapping these tales for days, and those are just the ones he's been around for. Admittedly, he feels a bit inadequate at the best of times, but this barrage is sending his mind to places he thought he'd left behind years ago. It isn't as though he’s trying to overhear, either; the topic seems to keep coming up between her and Dorian since their return from the field, and as the number of stories continues to grow, Cullen can no longer suppress his suspicions about what might have sparked the topic of conversation in the first place. 

Had she met someone in Redcliffe? Did she spend a week rolling around with some mage who could dance ice and fire and lightning across her skin? Or perhaps a scout caught her eye along the journey back. Did she sometimes invite Inquisition soldiers into her tent to keep her warm at night? That would certainly improve moral, he thinks darkly. 

And had Dorian overheard her with someone? Was that why the two had begun to discuss past lovers? Or perhaps Dorian had joined them, shown her just what that perfected Tevinter breeding he boasted about could do in bed. Cullen nearly growls at the idea.

Or perhaps he does growl. He hears a polite cough from across the table and realizes he's still scowling down at his unfinished dinner. 

"I should go," he offers lamely before turning and storming toward his quarters. He can easily picture the way Dorian must be rolling his eyes, some scathing comment about the manners of Fereldans on the tip of his tongue. 

Cullen knows he's overreacting, but awareness of how much of a dolt he must seem only fuels his anger. Perhaps she would prefer the bed of someone more calm and collected, like Solas. Or maybe someone smooth and assured, as Dorian always is. He's certain Sera would know how to please her, and the elf has made her interest in doing so widely known.

Stepping out onto the battlements, he can't help but attempt to quickly catalogue every interaction he's witnessed recently between her and the members of her inner circle. He's fairly sure she hadn't bedded anyone while at Skyhold since they started their… whatever they were doing, but she certainly isn't lacking opportunities. Even Blackwall, for all his stoicism, seems to be trying to brood his way into her smalls. Besides, the vast majority of her time was spent away from the fortress, and Maker only knows what she gets up to then. 

It's not as though Cullen expects her to be completely virginal, not necessarily at least, but she hasn't ever seemed to be in a rush to jump into bed with him, even months after they'd both confessed their feelings. Until now, he'd taken that to mean she was as content as he was with their stolen mid-day kisses and gentle tentative touches. Sure, they hadn’t been able to spend much time together lately, but the hours they had managed to carve out had been good ones. Or so he had thought. 

But after hearing tale after tale of quick trysts and whirlwind weekends, of bendy stable hands and smitten nobles and that one Antivan assassin that apparently _everyone_ knows, Cullen can’t help but wonder if her pacing isn’t due to hesitancy born of inexperience, as is the case for him, but rather because she doesn’t think him capable of satisfying her needs. Or even worse, because she’s been too busy having her needs met elsewhere.

It’s all he can think about as he nears the stairs to his office. Cullen nearly runs into Knight-Captain Rylen, so lost is he in his own stormy imaginings. Seeing his second-in-command gives him an idea, though. He knows it’s a bad idea before he opens his mouth, but that doesn’t stop him from speaking. 

“Rylen, a moment of your time?”

The man nods in recognition. “Good evening, ser.” 

Cullen respects his second-in-command far too much to waste his time with such trivial matters, but he has to ask. As soon as the thought had popped into being, Cullen hadn’t been able to shake it. But he knows he can’t jump right into it. The last thing he wants is for Rylen to seek her out and ask the Inquisitor why her Commander is questioning her behavior. 

“Back from the Keep? How are things fairing in the Western Approach?”

“Well enough, ser,” Rylen answers, confusion crossing his brow for a moment. “Everything should be in the report I had delivered to you. Was something not detailed to your satisfaction, ser?” 

Of course. The report in question is sitting untouched on his desk. He’d received it moments before Trevelyan had strolled into his office, her hips swaying seductively and that pretty mouth of hers curved into a smile just for him. Lately her visits have all but ensured he can’t get any work done for hours afterwards, his thoughts too stuck on every wicked thing he wishes he was bold enough to do to her. 

“Your notes were more than adequate.” Cullen assures him. “Thank you. I was just hoping to hear more about our soldiers. Morale and such.” He knows it’s a flimsy excuse, but perhaps he can guide the conversation enough that his questions about her won’t seem completely out of nowhere. 

“It’s a difficult area,” Rylen begins. “We’ve made progress with the water supply, and that cook you had sent out helps a great deal, but a desert is a desert, ser. The men try not to seem too down when the Inquisitor is about, but--” 

Cullen figures that’s as good an opening as he’s going to get. “Do the men enjoy when the Inquisitor visits?” he asks.

“Oh, they love it, ser.” 

Cullen does his best not to wince. That doesn’t mean anything, he reminds himself. “And are they very social with her?”

Rylen’s smile grows. “She’s like one of the men when she’s there, ser. Sharing stories around the fire, drinking with them, beating the trousers off anyone still stupid enough to take her up on a game of Wicked Grace.” 

“I hope no actual clothing is coming off, Knight-Captain.” Cullen knows he sounds every bit the over-serious commander he’s called behind his back, but he hopes Rylen takes his tone for, well, anything other than jealousy. 

“Of course not, ser. Not that a fair few of them wouldn't give their sword arms for a chance, if you follow my meaning, but they’d sooner spit on the Maker than cross that Qunari she bunks with.” 

Cullen feels physically ill at the revelation. He hadn't even considered the Iron Bull. 

“Are you alright, Ser Cullen?” 

Clearing his throat so he didn't choke on his words, Cullen bids Rylen a quick goodnight. He doesn’t wait to hear the knight’s reply before retreating to his office and slamming the door. 

So she’s fucking Bull when she’s out in the field. His mind starts to put the pieces together now: the times he’s seen them talking over drinks in the tavern, her bright laughter when Bull mentions the enthusiasm of the serving girls (no doubt the Inquisitor knows just what they have to be enthusiastic about), her increasingly frequent habit of taking the mercenary out with her on missions. 

When had it started? Had she grown tired of waiting on his awkward fumbling in the months since that day Cullen first kissed her on the battlements? Or had she bedded the Qunari long before Cullen mustered up the courage to admit his feelings? Do she and Bull have an agreement that they only sleep together when away from Skyhold, or has Cullen been too blinded by her to see something going on right in front of him? 

Is she sleeping with anyone else? She takes Varric out easily as often as she does Bull, and either Solas or Dorian always accompany her as well. Now that he thinks about it, she heavily favors an all-male party when she goes on longer missions. Is that because--

No.

Cullen grips the edge of his desk, forcing his racing thoughts to a halt. This is getting out of hand and he has enough sense left to recognize that. Even if she’s passing time in the bed of someone else, Cullen has no claim on her. He’s told her how he felt and each time she’s encouraged him, saying she cares for him as well, but he’s never once asked her for any sort of commitment. 

Perhaps that is his mistake: believing she would understand what this means to him, believing it would mean the same to her. Perhaps if he explains to her that he wants only her, that he needs her to want only him, he can make this right. 

But he knows self delusion when he stumbles upon it. What can he offer her that another lover -- or a rotation of other lovers -- could not? Shaking hands and headaches? Clumsy exploration he hasn’t even worked up the courage to attempt yet? Surely a woman as beautiful and experienced as she is would laugh at a request to be only his. 

Or rather, she would not laugh at him, because she is far too kind for that. She would reach up to rest her small hand against his cheek, look at him with that soft sadness she wears sometimes when she talks about people she couldn’t save, and tell him that she cares for him but this just isn’t going to work out between them.

He doesn’t think he can stand to hear those words from her. That settles it then. He’ll just have to end things himself. At least then he can retain some measure of dignity, even if it means ripping out the brightest flame in his life. Better than to be burnt to ashes by it later, he tells himself, unsure if he really believes that at all. 

 

\---------------

 

Her hands are buried in his hair and his lips are moving along her throat and nothing is going as he’d planned. 

“Please, Cullen,” she whispers, and for a moment he thinks of pushing everything aside -- his concerns and his paperwork -- and taking her over there on his desk. But when he moves his mouth from her skin and presses her against the wall, he can’t stop thinking about another, larger body over hers. Does she beg like this for the Qunari? 

His mind is a traitor, but he can’t banish the thought now that it’s there.

“We can’t keep doing this if you’re sleeping with Iron Bull.”

She looks up at him, clearly confused by the change of direction. “That’s… fine?”

“That’s all you have to say? That it’s fine?” He takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. He isn’t going to implore her to care, but he’d expected some sort of remorse at the least. 

She crosses her arms over her chest as well, and he wonders briefly if she realizes how often she mirrors his posture. “Considering I’m not currently, nor have I ever been, sleeping with Bull: yes, I think that’s a perfectly reasonable condition.”

“You’re not?” He doesn’t mean to sound so surprised, but that wasn't on his list of possible responses.

“Well,” she starts, and Cullen tenses. He has no interest in hearing about the strange activities they get up to that don’t fit traditional definitions of intercourse, but she continues quickly, “if you mean ‘sleeping with’ in the sense of ‘being asleep in the same area’, then yes, we do that. Bull often insists on sharing a tent with me when we’re camping because Dorian doesn't let him get any rest if they share, and I think he’s a bit suspicious of Solas for some reason. Plus, Varric snores like a gurn,” she laughs at that, shaking her head. “But if you mean ‘having sex with’? Then no. Absolutely not.”

“Oh.” It’s all he can think to say. The relief that had filled him is quickly being replaced by embarrassment at his doubt. Of course Rylen had meant that the soldiers saw Bull as her protector, not her lover. Cullen is sure he can feel a blush setting in.

“May I ask why you thought this was a conversation we needed to have?” She looks to be somewhere between amused and irritated. Cullen rubs the back of his neck, and her expression softens instantly. 

“I would really rather you didn’t.”

“Then may I ask you to continue what you were doing before?” she says almost shyly, stepping closer and looking up at him in a way that makes his pulse quicken. 

Recognizing the out she’s offering, Cullen graciously accepts. 

“You mean this?” He lowers his head to her neck, flicking his tongue along her pulse point before moving to suck at the juncture where her neck slopes into her shoulder. 

“Maker, yes.” She cants her hips toward him, grinding against his quickly returning erection.

“My name. Say _my_ name,” he growls against her skin. He’s surprised by his own forcefulness, but she moans at his words.

“Cullen, yes. Please, Cullen. Please touch me,” she begs beautifully. 

So he does.

Taking her hips in his hands, he spins their bodies around before guiding her backwards until she’s against the edge of his desk. Sliding his hands down her thighs, he lifts, and she quickly gets the idea, shifting back until she has enough leverage to wrap her legs around him. He moves her calves over his hips, the angle forcing her nearly horizontal to accommodate the position. It’s perfect, stretching her out before him and giving him just enough room to move his hand between them as he leans forward and presses his mouth to hers. 

She moans his name again when he strokes along her inner thighs over her leggings, tracing where her legs meet her body before moving his hand upward to hook into her waistband and tug. This is already more intimate than they’ve been before, having until now kept their touches only to upper areas, but he knows exactly what he wants to do to her and will not be deterred by his own inexperience. He might not have the finesse of her previous lovers, but he’s sure he can outmatch them when it comes to enthusiasm. 

Moving one hand beneath her, he lifts her taut frame off the desk while he uses the other hand to pull her leggings and smalls down in one motion. He steps back so he can free her of the garments entirely, spreading her thighs when he moves back between her legs. His gaze has been on her newly revealed skin, and as he looks back up to her face he relishes the flush that’s bloomed along her cheeks. Her eyes are dark and curious, her mouth gently parted. 

If he stops to consider his actions he knows he’ll grow uncertain, but it’s easy enough to sink to his knees in front of her and lift her legs until they rest on his shoulders. 

“Oh,” she gasps quietly, “Cullen.” 

He wants to make her scream.

She props herself up so she can watch him, and he rakes his eyes along her form to meets her stare before asking, “May I?” 

“Yes, Maker, please.” 

He slaps the inside of her thigh lightly and she laughs.

“Yes, _Cullen_ , please,” she corrects herself. The last word has barely left her lips before his hands and mouth are on her cunt. His fingers spread her just enough for him to slide his tongue along her clit and down to her entrance. She gasps, and he savors his first taste of her. She is like nothing he’s ever known, salty and metallic and lightly sweet. Her taste is neither strong nor cloying and he chases it, relishing the feel of her under his tongue. 

“Just like that,” she moans. “Your mouth feels so good.”

He hums against her, dipping his tongue into her before moving back up to trace along the outside of the hood of her clit. He flicks his tongue back and forth over the sensitive nub and she writhes. One of her hands reaches down to sink into his hair as she bucks her hips toward him, a litany of filthy praise spilling from her lips. 

“Cullen, fuck, right there. Lick me just like that.” 

He’s desperately hard from her words and her taste and the feel of her beneath his mouth. He presses his free hand against his length in search of some relief, and her eyes open a fraction wider as she notices.

“Perfect, yes. Touch yourself for me, lover,” she commands. “Wrap your fingers around that thick cock while you eat me out.” This is the most aroused he’s been in his entire life, he’s sure of it. 

He fumbles to push his trousers down so that he can free his aching cock. Once that’s accomplished, he pulls his mouth off of her and runs his hand along her folds, pushing a finger slowly into her soaking cunt to gather his spit and her slickness. He reaches down to coat his cock with the mixture, sinking two fingers from his other hand into her tight heat as he moves his mouth back to her clit. 

“Yes, finger me open, Cullen. Please,” she begs. There’s no way he’s going to hold out much longer, no way he could bring himself to still his hand and fight off his impending orgasm. But he needs to bring her off first. He needs to come with her taste flooding his tongue. 

He moans into her, crooking his fingers each time he pushes them into her, imitating the gesture he’s seen soldiers make when telling bawdy stories of bedding women. It must work, because suddenly a scream tears from her mouth and she’s pushing her hips toward him, doing her best to thrust down onto his hand and against his mouth. 

“Fuck, Cullen, yes, yes, yes,” she chants. “Faster, yes, please.”

He licks and sucks at her clit desperately, losing what little form he had managed to work out. He’s too close to maintain careful control, but she doesn’t seem to mind at all. Her words are a jumble now: his name over and over mixed with obscenities and encouragements. Every stroke of his cock is timed to match a push of his fingers into her wet heat. 

He feels her tighten and then grow perfectly still. There’s a moment that he worries he’s done something wrong, and then she’s screaming his name, arching off the desk and coating his tongue with her sweetness. 

He follows with his own orgasm immediately, spilling over his fingers and onto the stone floor. She’s still sighing and moaning softly when he pulls his hand from her body. He stands and looks down at her before moving the slick fingers to his mouth to suck the taste of her from them. 

“Cullen,” she murmurs, reaching out to him. He goes happily, letting her draw him down so she can lick at his mouth. He feels his cock twitch at the thought of her tasting herself on him. 

“I hope that was adequate,” he offers, and she laughs. 

“That was perfect,” she assures him. He kisses her deeply, chasing the taste of her that she’d stolen from his lips. Her smile is bright when he pulls back to look at her, and she runs her hands along any skin she can find to touch. “You are perfect.”

The following morning, he watches her party as they prepare to leave. He tries not to bristle at the way she leans over to whisper something to Dorian, or the ease with which Bull lifts her onto her mount.

 

\---------------

 

He’s stuck in a meeting all morning when the Inquisitor and her party finally return from the Emerald Graves, and he knows it’s petty but he’s a bit annoyed that all she does is lean against the doorframe of his office and watch him for a moment before turning back toward the main hall. He supposes he could just as easily dismiss his troops and follow her, but he doesn't want to appear to be chasing after her like a lovesick teenager. Still, he’s not in the best of moods when he finally has a chance to seek her out.

“Solas, fuck!” he hears her gasp as he approaches the door to the rotunda, and his stomach turns to ice. Cullen knows he should walk away, but he needs to see it for himself, to face the reality that, in spite of what they’d shared a few weeks back, he just can’t hold her attention forever. 

“You are close,” he hears Solas coax, followed by another groan from Trevelyan. “Relax and let your body open.” 

“Yes! I’ve got it!” she cries, but it’s an exclamation of victory rather than lust. Confusion more than anything prompts Cullen to finally push through the door and walk into the room. 

He’s expecting a scream and apologies, or to be hit with a spell perhaps. Instead he finds Solas and the Inquisitor, both fully clothed and a fair distance apart from each other, twisted into frankly painful looking positions. Trevelyan is standing on one leg with the other hooked up behind her head, one arm wrapped around her thigh and one extended straight out, Cullen assumes for balance. Solas is contorted into a similar pose, though the elf’s hands are clasped in front of him. He seems eerily calm. Trevelyan, on the other hand, is red faced and beaming.

“Look what I can do!” she calls out to him happily as he enters the room, nearly losing her balance in the process.

“What are you doing?” Cullen snaps. He knows he should be relieved. Intellectually, he is. But the anger and betrayal still coursing through his bloodstream from what he thought he heard suddenly have no target, and he can’t stop the harsh tone of his words. 

“It is an ancient conditioning art, my friend,” Solas answers, moving his leg back to the floor slowly. The words sound kind enough, but from the smirk across his face Cullen knows Solas is well aware of what their little session had sounded like. The Inquisitor seems about to topple over, and Solas moves to her side to help guide her leg down. 

Cullen thinks of the elf watching her bend and strain, helping to shift her into position and correcting her form, and the ex-Templar’s blood returns to a boil. 

“Enjoy your conditioning, my lady,” he spits out before crossing to the door that leads to the main hall. He hears her call for him to wait but keeps walking. Thanks to the din of conversation in the busy room he doesn't notice that she’s following him until she grabs his arm. 

“Cullen, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” he snaps, aware that it’s a more than transparent lie. “I simply need to see to… things. Excuse me.”

“No.” She moves to stand in front of him, holding both of his wrists and searching his face as if it might offer some explanation. 

“My lady, I must--”

“Stop calling me that. Your tongue has been inside of me,” she hisses. “I’ve come by your hand. I am not some simpering dignitary you can dismiss.”

“This is not an ideal setting for such a conversation,” he tries, only to have her drag him toward her quarters. He has no interest in making a scene, so he allows himself to be lead. Part of him feels slightly smug at the thought that she doesn’t mind being seen pulling him toward her private rooms in front of everyone. Most of him is dreading what she'll say when they get there. 

 

\---------------

 

Once they're inside, she latches the door and glares at him. “Have I done something wrong?" she asks.

He should tell her no, explain that he’s having a bad day, and apologize. 

Instead he says, “I don’t want you to be with other people.” When she doesn't respond, he continues. “I know I can’t offer you any reason to agree to that, but I don’t think I can share you.” 

She sighs. “You don't have to share me, Cullen.”

“Why?” he asks. He can’t help himself. 

“Are you asking why you don’t have to share me?”

“Why be with just me, I mean?” He tries to explain the doubts that plague him but his words come out nearly petulant. “I can’t offer you experience or sexy spells or any of the things you and Dorian were going on about.”

“Is that what brought this on? You think that just because I’ve been with other people I won’t want to be with just you?” There’s a furrow to her brow and she looks stricken. 

“Maybe you want to be with me now, but in time you won’t be--”

“I won’t be what, Cullen. Faithful?” Her words are sharp.

“Satisfied!” he clarifies, although from her expression he’s not sure that’s a better answer.

“You've already satisfied me,” she points out. 

He’s glad to hear it, but it doesn't quiet his concerns. “And Maker knows I’ll try to keep doing so, but how do you know it’ll be enough down the road?”

“How in the Void am I supposed to know if you won’t let me find out?” She is frustrated, he can tell. If she were a less patient person he’s sure she would have kicked him out by now.

“I’m not strong enough to be your experiment,” he confesses, and that’s it. That’s the heart of the matter and he didn't even realize until he said it how very true it is. “I can't go further with this and then be cast aside.” 

He wants to apologize for his weakness, to tell her he’s too broken to ask her to keep collecting all the pieces of him and mending them back together time after time, but he can’t. He knows he’s selfish to want something he doesn't deserve and he hates himself all the more for it, but she’s the first person who hasn’t pitied him even for a moment, who never once changed how she treated him when she learned the truth of his history, and he needs to believe she can still want him even knowing what she does. 

“Do you mean to say that unless I can swear to you that everything between us will always be perfect, you don't want to be with me?”

“Maker’s breath, no. I just need to know you'll want only me!” 

It’s true: he sure he can handle anything so long as he knows she’s his as he is hers. 

“I do!” she shouts, and then her voice fills with worry. “What have I possibly done that would make you think otherwise?”

“Why don't you _want_ me?” he asks, and he knows it sounds pathetic, but the question has been eating at him for ages now. 

“I do want you. I ache for you, Cullen,” she tells him, but she’s not understanding his meaning and he needs to her answer, needs to know why he’s less appealing to her than all those nameless one-night dalliances she’s let take her. 

“Then why don't you do anything of those things with me? You've known how I felt for months and yet we haven’t fully…” he doesn't know what term to use so he leaves it unsaid, pushes on. “But it seems that before me, you'd happily hop into bed with anyone who caught your eye as soon as you met them!” 

She flinches as if she’s been struck, and when she finally speaks, her voice is uneven. “I wanted to be sure--”

“I know I'm a hard sell,” he barks out. 

She shakes her head, looking into the space between them rather than meeting his eyes. 

“I wanted to be sure that I could do this. A relationship.” She enunciates the word carefully, as if it were in a language foreign to her tongue. “I spent so long not caring about anyone, and then you came along and all of a sudden I care so much and it’s frightening, overwhelming. I want you badly, always, but I also want to give you more than I know how to give. I've never done this before and I wanted to be sure I was even capable of loving someone before I mudded it up with sex.”

“Are you?” he asks, afraid of the answer.

“Am I what?” Her expression is pained and she’s still looking anywhere but him.

“Capable of loving me?” 

She meets his eyes then. 

“Yes.” 

For a moment his anger subsides, but then it surges back into him so quickly he feels sick with it. If she loves him, why does she continue to seek out other options?

“Then why don’t you?” he asks. He sees confusion slip over her features. “You spend more time flirting with Dorian or--” Her sharp and sudden laugh surprises him into silence. 

“Dorian would sooner bend you over than he would kiss me,” she says. Her tone doesn't sound cruel, but he can’t help but feel she’s taunting him somehow.

“You don’t need to mock me about th--”

She sighs. “Dorian is gay.” 

“Pardon?”

“Dorian is _incredibly_ gay.” She makes a lewd gesture with her hands that he’d blush at under different circumstances. “Using the ‘only has sex with men’ definition of the word, I mean. I don’t know how I’m the only one who isn't surprised by this, honestly, but that’s a discussion for another time.”

“But he’s always touching you!” Cullen wants to believe her, but his mind is helpfully providing all the moments he’s seen them share, the numerous times she’s leaned into him as she laughs or taken his offered arm as they walk the grounds. 

“Dorian would flirt with a particularly well polished dinner plate. It’s just in his nature.”

“Is that what it is for you, then?" he asks. "Is flirting just in your nature as well?”

The questions seem to actually surprise her. 

“What are you talking about Cullen?”

“You flirt with everyone,” he sneers. He doesn't know how this is a point of contention and it’s beyond frustrating that she’s not admitting to something that he has to tolerate witnessing on a near constant basis. 

“Maker’s fucking breath, _what_ are you talking about?” 

“You touch Bull’s chest when you’re talking,” he begins, and she jumps in with a justification immediately. 

“I mean, it’s right there in my face.”

“You snuggle up with Sera in her little nook nest.” 

“Half of the time we’re talking about you!” 

“You nearly gave the poor Quartermaster a heart attack the last time you got drunk and tried to, I don’t even know the term, _rhythmically rut_ against him in the tavern.”

“It’s called dancing, Cullen, which you’d know if you ever said yes when I asked,” she accuses right back, and he supposes that one is fair but the idea of her using someone as a substitute for him only furthers the point, in his mind at least.

“You read the dirtiest parts of Varric’s books out loud to him.”

“Oh come on,” she scoffs. “I’m pretty sure Varric is too in love with Bianca _and_ Hawke to notice anything I do, but--” 

“Not for lack of trying on your part!” he snaps, and she stops her rapid-fire responses to stare at him for a long moment. 

When she finally speaks, her voice is even and quiet. “Is that what you really think of me? Of this?”

Cullen shakes his head. “I don't know what this is, to be quite honest.”

“What do you _think_ this is?” she prods. 

He figures he has nothing left to lose from telling the truth, so he does. 

“I think-- no, I know that I want to be with you. I know that I care for you more than I've cared for anyone in my life.”

“But you don’t think I feel the same way?”

Cullen is silent. 

Trevelyan runs a hand through her hair, looking to the ceiling as if it holds an answer. “Andraste’s tits, what are we even fighting about anymore? It’s like you want me to tell you I won’t do this.”

He should tell her that’s the last thing he wants. He should gather her into his arms and apologize for his doubts. He should tell her how much appreciates her, trusts her, loves her. He knows all of this, but instead he hears himself twist the knife. 

“I’d certainly rather know now than walk in on you spread for some stranger later down the line.” 

For a moment he thinks she’s going to slap him. 

“Curse you to the fucking Void,” she says suddenly. “Do you know how hard I’ve been trying?”

It hurts to think of her struggling to be with him. He doesn’t consider what it means that she would work to change herself for his sake. All he can think of is what will happen when she grows weary of trying. 

“If it’s such a hardship, perhaps we shouldn’t bother,” he snaps.

“Fine!” 

“Fine.” 

She looks stunned for a moment before reaching up to unlatch the door, and he tries not to think about how hard her hands are shaking. 

“I trust you can see yourself out,” she says, moving past him toward the balcony. He stares at her back, realizing that the slight tremors mean she’s crying although he can’t hear any noise coming from her. He turns and leaves. 

 

\---------------

 

Scout Harding comes to deliver the post-mission report that the Inquisitor had given him herself following every outing since their move to Skyhold. He may be imagining it, but he thinks the dwarf might be threatening him when she goes into detail about how _incredibly easy_ it had been to slit the throats of the _complete asses_ they’d encountered when rescuing a group of slaves. He knows he doesn't imagine the glare she gives him as he leaves. 

The main hall is full of people when he heads to dinner, but the Inquisitor is not among them. She’s not in the tavern either, and he begins to worry. She’s always sociable, even when exhausted, and it doesn’t sit right with him. 

He knows she could have food brought to her quarters, but he ignores that in favor of using bringing her a meal as an excuse to visit. To what ends, he doesn’t know, but he feels an overwhelming need to speak with her. He’ll start by apologizing, he decides. Even if she slams the door in his face, he needs to at least try. 

He’d realized as soon as he arrived back in his office that he’d been an idiot. Beyond an idiot. An utter and total fool. If she says she wants only him, he has to believe her. Maybe it won’t be true for long, but at least he can enjoy the brightest moments of his life before he inevitably bores her and she moves on. It would be worth it, he decides, just to have more memories of her. He isn’t sure yet how to explain that to her exactly, but he figures asking for forgiveness is a good place to start.

His plan is thwarted by her not being in her quarters, or the gardens, or any of the places she tends to linger. He finally heads back to Josephine’s office, knowing the woman was still working at her desk from his earlier trip through on the way to check the war room. 

“Commander, what can I do for you?” Josephine asks, and he can’t think of a subtle way to phrase it so he goes for direct.

“Would you happen to know where the Inquisitor is, by any chance?” He hopes his tone is casual.

“I believe Lady Trevelyan is in the main guest quarters. King Alistair arrived this afternoon and the two have been conversing ever since, as far as I know.” Josephine’s tone is cautious, and Cullen assumes she's concerned he’ll be upset that he wasn’t informed of the King’s arrival sooner. He hardly spares it a thought, however. He’s far too busy thinking of an excuse for interrupting the meeting he’s about to steal the Inquisitor away from. Thanking Josephine, he heads straight to the wing of the fortress reserved for the most important visiting dignitaries. He’s sure he’ll be able to come up with something to say once he’s there.

 

\---------------

 

Cullen knocks quickly before pushing open the heavy door. “Your Majesty, I apologize for the interruption but I--”

He freezes. The air leaves his lungs in a huff as if he’s been struck, and he’s sure he’ll never remember how to draw a breath again because his every nerve is on fire and how could he possibly do something like breathe when the love of his life is pressed up against a bookshelf grinding down onto the King of Fereldan’s thigh where it’s wedged between her legs. 

She is gorgeous in the light from the fireplace, and he’s stunned by how beautiful she looks as much as by the motion of Alistair's hand withdrawing from beneath her tunic. Adrenaline floods Cullen suddenly, throwing his mind into battle mode, and well-honed tactician’s instincts catalogue the scene before him in painful clarity. 

Every point where their bodies touch feels like an arrow being shot into his heart. 

Their legs are tangled together, her smaller frame held up by Alistair’s larger one. One of her hands rests on the back of Alistair’s neck, the other on his chest. Her shirt is still hiked up from where Alistair had been touching her, leaving the skin of her stomach exposed, and Cullen wants to cross the room and cover her. With his cloak or his body, he does not know. Alistair’s far arm is still wrapped around her torso, holding her gently, and the one he moved a moment ago now hovers at his side, the muscles clearly tensed. He looks ready to physically defend her if necessary. A small part of Cullen is warmed by this, even while he hates the man for thinking he could ever been considered a threat to her. 

The King and the Inquisitor both regard him as though he is something dangerous, and the fear in her gaze snaps him into motion. Cullen takes a step back. 

“Forgive me, your Majesty,” he says, and he’s proud of how steady his voice sounds when meets her eyes and adds, “my Lady.”

Alistair turns from her to face him, and Cullen almost laughs when he sees the undone laces of the man’s trousers. He never thought he’d see the King of Fereldan with an erection, but there’s no mistaking the hardness straining against the fabric. That’s for her, Cullen thinks. He swallows down bile and wonders whether vomiting on the King would be considered a crime. His head is spinning and his flesh feels as though there are flames licking along his limbs. 

“Cullen, I...” she starts, but her voice is small and trails off before she can ask anything of him. He is grateful; he knows wouldn’t be able to refuse her, not even now. 

“Oh,” Alistair says, reading the situation with more accuracy than Cullen wishes. “Well then. I’d say you have a type, but that would imply I was anything more than a poor substitute.”

The King’s words sound kind enough but Cullen doesn’t bother to make sense of them. He needs to leave before she speaks again. He knows he should wait to be dismissed, but he can’t risk staying any longer. Turning away like a coward, he rushes from the room.

 

\---------------

 

Cullen replays the scene in his head the way he used to press down on his loose teeth when he was a child. The more he thinks about it, the more detached from everything he’ll eventually feel. He just has to push through the bursts of pain first.

The King of Fereldan and the Herald of Andraste. The leader of a nation and the leader of the Inquisition. Josephine will be thrilled. The whole bloody country will be thrilled, he thinks bitterly. 

Anora still hasn’t given Alastair an heir, and even without that convenient excuse, everyone knows their marriage was purely political. The people will quickly forget any infidelity in the wake of their excitement over a royal wedding, particularly with the inspiring love story Josephine will surely concoct for them. 

This is good, he tells himself. She deserves to be with a man who can give her everything, and what better man to do that than a king? She deserves better than a titleless, inexperienced addict. She deserves better than anything Cullen could hope to offer.

He doesn’t remember the walk to his quarters, but Cullen finds himself in his loft, stripping with years of practiced efficiency. His hands work without thought while his mind continues to plague him. 

This morning, everything had been fine. She had loved him. And then he had turned her from him with his jealousy and spite. He knows he’s to blame for all of this. If only he’d trusted her, believed her words instead of his own baseless fears. Now he’s learned, but it’s too late. He has lost her. 

He thinks for a moment of packing his things and leaving before first light, but the idea of being away from her hurts worse than any of the night’s events. 

Andraste help him but he’s still in love with her. He will be in love with her until the day he dies. He feels it in his bones with a certainty that he has never known before. 

A sort of peace sets upon him at the revelation. Surely the searing pain will return soon, will probably continue to crop up for ages if not forever, but for now he finds some comfort in the fact that he can at least still stand by her, serve her and protect her. That’s what really matters, after all. And maybe some day, she will forgive his folly. He won’t let himself hope for more than that, but in time she could perhaps--

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a door opening below. He must have neglected to lock one of them in his distraction. But even so, this is hardly a reasonable hour for anyone to be reporting to him. Unless they’re under attack. Cullen reaches for the dagger he keeps beneath the bed and prepares to defend himself if necessary, tries to calculate the fastest path by which to fight his way to her. The ladder will give him an advantage, but not against an archer or mage. He’s considering angle trajectory when he hears her voice. 

“Cullen, it’s me.” 

Panic drains from him, quickly replaced by tension when he realizes why Trevelyan must be here. Though he knows there’s nothing she needs forgiveness for, he doesn’t want to hear her ask for it anyway. She owes him no explanation, and he doesn’t think he can stomach one.

“I’m coming up. Please just grant me a moment.” Her voice is fragile, reedy in a way he’s never heard before. 

He doesn’t answer, instead reaching for a clean tunic to pull on. Not sure what else to do, he slides the dagger back to its hiding place and stands at the side of his bed, smoothing out wrinkles in his sleep trousers while he wait for her to finish the climb. 

She steps into the room, moves until she’s just out of arm’s reach, and then stands in front of him in silence. When he meets her gaze, she draws in on herself for a moment. He twitches under the control it takes to not close the distance between them. He wants so badly to wrap her in his arms and kiss her hair. But he knows that wouldn’t be welcome. The privilege of touching her is no longer his. 

Her eyes drop to the floor as she opens her mouth to speak. 

“I need to say some things. I know it’s entirely selfish of me but please, if you’ve ever cared for me at all, let me speak before you throw me out.” She looks up at him then, and he nods, afraid to say anything lest he beg her to take him back. 

“I made the worst mistake of my life tonight, Cullen,” she whispers. “I was so mad at you and I wanted… I wanted to prove you right, I think. Right to mistrust me, right to think of me as wanton. Maybe some part of me wanted to hurt you in return for how you hurt me. I don’t know what I wanted.” Her voice grows stronger as she speaks, but her words are still careful, as if she’s picking through broken glass to find each one. 

“But I know I didn’t want Alistair,” she says. He can’t help but flinch at the name. 

“I know it’s different for you. I know you can probably never forgive me.” 

He longs to tell her how wrong she is, that he’s already forgiven her, that there’s nothing to forgive. But she asked him to listen, so he bites his tongue and lets her continue. 

“But for me, sex just isn’t… it _wasn’t_ anything, until you. I’ve been playing at seduction for so long,” she shrugs, “it’s just what I’ve always done. I didn’t even realize the extent until you said something, or maybe I just didn’t want to admit it to myself. But sex, flirting, all of it, it was just another way to pass time. Until you.” 

She’s staring at him with an almost frightening intensity now. He wants to be cautious in case he’s misunderstanding her, but his heart is racing at the thought that she might be saying what he hadn’t dare to hope for. 

“I need to be honest with you, though. I enjoy sex. I love the--” 

At that, he can’t keep quiet.

“I don’t need to hear about the things he did to you,” he pleads, hating how weak he must sound.

“I don’t mean with him. We didn’t… ” She shakes her head, and when she continues, her voice is soft, soothing. “I mean in general. This is who I am. I want you to know this.”

“Alright,” he manages to say. 

“Thank you.” 

She pauses, collecting herself before continuing. 

“I love every part of sex: the tension leading up to that first moment; the press of mouths and bodies and hands; the growing desperation when we drop any pretense of holding back; the sounds and the slick slide of skin against mine; watching someone come apart under my hands or my mouth or inside of me; holding onto my lover while they draw out my pleasure; the gentle touches afterward when my bones feel as though they’ve been replaced with honey.”

Cullen feels himself growing hard at her words, ashamed by how badly he wants her even when things are so twisted up between them. He finds his gaze has settled on her lips, and he drags his eyes back up to meet her's as she continues. 

“Sex has always been a wonderful, beautiful thing to me. I mean, I’ve had my share of bad experiences, but that’s not the point. The point is, I crave all of that, and I crave it often. But what we did was more than that. It meant so much more because it was you. Everything with you means more. And I want that, Cullen. I want that with _only_ you.”

An hour ago, he wouldn’t have believed her, not under the weight of his own insecurity. But now he recognizes the raw sincerity in her voice, feels the same pleading desperation echoing in his ribs. Now he understands. 

“Please,” he whispers. Her look of surprise is quickly overtaken by a shy smile. 

“I think of only you when I touch myself. I have since we first met, if I’m honest. I thought of you when--” she stops herself, but they both know what she was going to say. 

Cullen swallows. Nods. Tries to look encouraging. She moves toward him, taking his hands in hers and looking up at him with hope written across every feature. 

“I can’t promise I’ll never find another person attractive, or that I won’t accidentally be too flirtatious at times. But I don’t want anyone else in my bed or between my legs or in my heart. I made a mistake, the worst mistake, and I hate that it took that to make me see this, but now I know without question: you’re the only person I want, Cullen.”

His stomach feels full of dragonlings. His tongue feels too thick in his mouth and there aren’t strong enough words to tell her how badly he wants that as well. 

“Please,” she breathes, “forgive me.” 

His mouth is on hers before he can think. 

He would give her anything, and that terrifies him, but now he knows she would do the same for him. It makes them both fools, renders them vulnerable in ways they cannot afford to be, but he doesn’t care. He needs her now. He needs her for the rest of his life. 

“Yes.” He speaks the word into her mouth before catching her bottom lip between his teeth. He moves to pull her toward the bed but she hesitates. She is shrinking from him again, a look of shame across her face, and he immediately hates whatever is making her feel this way. 

“If you’d like me to bathe, I understand,” she offers quietly. “He and I, we didn’t do anything beyond what you saw but--”

Cullen cuts her off, wrapping his arms around her and tossing her onto the bed before moving into the space above her. He licks into her mouth, grinds his hardness against her. When she gasps, he moves his lips to her ear.

“I am going to kiss and lick and suck every trace of him from your skin,” he tells her, his voice deep and rough with need. “I am going to map your curves until you forget that anyone else has ever put their hands on you. I am going to pleasure you until you cannot recall any other lover.” 

She is panting beneath him, pressing her hips up to meet his. “Please, Cullen,” she begs, but he hasn’t finished declaring his intentions, and this time he is determined to do things right. 

“I am going to learn your body until I can make you scream with a single touch,” he swears. “I am going to fill you with my love--” he kisses her, “and my spend--” he thrusts hard against her, “and worship you with the reverence you deserve.” 

He brings his mouth back to her ear to make sure she catches every word of his final promise. 

“I am yours, body and soul, and I will use every moment that I am given from now until I draw my final breath to earn the right to call you mine.” 

A noise like a sob catches in her throat and she reaches up to his face to bring his mouth down against hers again, licking into him as if trying to taste his declarations. 

“I am yours,” she whispers against his lips. “Entirely, completely yours.” Her fingers are digging into his shoulders now, and he hopes to find bruises there tomorrow. 

“Please take me, Cullen.” 

Her hands drift down to tug at his tunic, and he moves back from her to pull it over his head before twisting to discard his sleep trousers as well. He reaches for her leggings as well, but she stops him, wrapping her fingers around his wrists to bring him back into position above her. As her eyes move along his body, he realizes this is the first time she’s seen him undressed. 

“I just want to enjoy this for a moment,” she admits shyly. 

His laugh is low and throaty. “There will be time to stare later.”

“That is true,” she agrees with a happy sigh, shifting to lift her own shirt over her head. She slides her legs up around Cullen’s waist so he can pull her leggings and smalls over her hips. He only slightly tangles himself in them when he tries to get them down her legs. 

“Perhaps I ought to handle this for now,” she teases, undoing the clasp holding her breast band in place. 

Worship isn’t a strong enough word for what he wants to do to her, what he intends to do to her every moment that she’ll allow him. She is the most perfect thing he’s ever seen. He lowers his mouth to lick at first one breast, then the other. As he works each nipple into a hard peak, she brings her legs around him again, this time pressing up enough that he can feel her wet heat just barely touch the head of his cock. He groans at the feeling, sure he can’t last much longer but unsure what preparation she might need. 

“Tell me what to do, my love,” he asks of her, lips still pressed to the skin of her breast. 

Sliding a hand into his hair and pulling him back up toward her mouth, she smiles. “You are a gentleman to ask, but all I want right now is your cock inside of me.”

A crooked grin meets her words. That he can give her. 

She’s already spread wide for him, and he presses the head of his cock gently along her wetness until he finds her opening. It’s a simple matter then to bury himself in her cunt slowly but deliberately, and it is the best thing he’s ever done. 

“Please,” she begs, and he’s too lost in the feel of her to be sure what she’s asking for until he feels her cant her hips up, driving him impossibly deeper into her. Then she presses her hips down into the mattress to move him slightly out of her, rocking his cock in and out of her cunt as best she can from her position. 

He is utterly and entirely overwhelmed by her tight heat surrounding him, but he manages to move his hips back before pushing down into her again slowly. 

“Harder, please,” she says. “Faster. I won’t break.” And that’s all the encouragement he needs.

He works his cock in and out of her, grabbing her hips and slamming into her core over and over. She is making the most delicious sounds, moans and gasps littered with “fuck” and “please” and “yes, Cullen, right there, just like that” between wordless cries. 

He is close embarrassingly fast, but she is soaking and yet tight as a vice around him, and he hopes that means she isn’t far off either. 

“I’m going to come,” he gasps, unsure if it’s the sort of thing you’re supposed to announce, or if he should pull out of her before he does. She moans and wraps her legs tighter around him, reaching down to touch herself, and it’s the most sensual thing he’s seen in his life. 

“Fill me, Cullen,” she tells him, and he can feel her working her finger over her clit between them. “Finish inside of me, please.” 

Who is he to deny her anything?

His entire body tenses and then he’s spilling into her, cock throbbing where it’s buried deep inside of her. 

“Cullen, I’m coming, I’m coming,” she chants before cutting herself off with a cry. And then he can feel her tightening around him in waves, and he’s still shooting into her, and Maker forgive him but if there’s any reason to save this world, he’s found it right here. 

He stays inside of her until she’s stopped shaking. When he finally pulls out and moves to lie beside her, she sighs happily and shifts so she’s facing him. She runs her hand lazily down his chest, and he turns his body toward her. 

“I want you to know,” she starts. There’s an uncertainty to her voice he’s not used to hearing. “Just, please know that I’ve never… you’re the first person I’ve ever…” she trails off, biting her lip. 

“I have never felt anything like this.” His words are raw with unashamed honesty, and he can see some of the worry melt from her at his says them.

“Neither have I,” she says. “I love you. You know that, right?”

“I love you, too.” He moves to kiss her, and she surges forward to meet his mouth. 

The kiss is soft at first, despite her initial rushing. Soon, though, she is nipping at his lips, dragging her tongue along them to sooth each bite before taking them between her teeth again. He groans and pulls her on top of him, his hands around her waist as she straddles his hips. 

She lifts herself until his hardening cock is resting against her wet center, the head positioned right at her clit. The slow circles she starts to move her hips in leave him with no doubt of her intentions. He brings one hand up to palm her breast, the other hand moving down past her stomach to position his now full and aching cock at her entrance.

“Think you can keep going?” she asks, and he knows she’s referring to more than what he’s about to do to her body.

“For you,” he tells her with absolute certainty, “always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13696.html?thread=53452672#t53452672
> 
> Inquisitor has a long history of exes before Cullen (mostly one night stands). When he finds out (perhaps overhears people comparing "notes" and confronts her?) , he has doubts whether Inquisitor can be in a committed relationship or if he can handle wondering about every other guy at Skyhold having spent the night in the Inquisitor's bed or not (issues stemming from his own sense of inadequacy, and NOT slut shaming Inquisitor). 
> 
> \+ f!Trevelyan (default/vague)  
> \+ Broody!Cullen  
> \+ Inquisitor insists she can do relationships, but internally struggles with it (maybe comes close to sleeping with someone else?? Or her and Cullen get into a fight and she ends up bedding someone, feels immensely guilty while Cullen feels incredibly hurt)  
> \+ Inquisitor is a natural flirt and doesn't even realize she's doing it (Cullen becomes hypersensitive to this), aggravating the problem  
> \+ trust issues  
> \+ Angst


End file.
